


The werewolf and the pianist

by shyberius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comforting Sirius, Fluff, Full Moon, Gay, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Insecure Remus, Kissing, Lupin - Freeform, M/M, Marauders, Marauders era, Moony - Freeform, Padfoot - Freeform, Piano, Remus - Freeform, Romance, Shrieking Shack, Sirius - Freeform, The Marauders - Freeform, Werewolf, black - Freeform, kiss, piano playing, remus lupin - Freeform, romantic, sirius and remus - Freeform, sirius black - Freeform, whomping willow - Freeform, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyberius/pseuds/shyberius
Summary: Remus laughed quietly. "I save your life, and all you do is criticise my piano playing skills. Typical."





	The werewolf and the pianist

The sound carried on the wind, or something like that. But that was stupid - Sirius was holed up in the Gryffindor tower, pretending to write an essay on rare healing charms, as far away from the sound as possible. So maybe the world needed him to hear it. Or maybe he couldn't even hear it - the sound hummed inside his soul somewhere and urged him to follow it.

It was a piano. Or, specifically, someone playing the piano. Badly. All that reached Sirius's ears were tuneless snippets and broken off clusters of notes.

Although Sirius was, well, _Sirius_ , the part of Padfoot that always stayed with him was his impeccable sense of hearing. So impeccable, in fact, that he could trace the piano playing right to it's source.

And he'd be damned if he didn't follow his instincts. Plus, it would be better than this essay.

Sirius tossed the parchment aside and summoned his boots and cloak with an offhand " _Accio_!", slipping out of the common room unnoticed.

"Going somewhere?" Crooned the Fat Lady.

"Obviously," muttered Sirius, hoping that nobody had heard him leave.

The castle was quiet as the dead, and the night was almost impossible to see through the shrouding mist. The only indication that he was even outdoors was the full moon like a smudge against his vision. But Sirius just pulled his cloak further round his shoulders and followed the sound, which tickled his ears, dancing around him, teasing him.

Finally his senses led him to a dark, beckoning willow tree. Said tree seemed to leer down at him - Sirius held up his middle finger, wondering if he'd get a reaction out of it.

The music was louder now, so close he could almost feel it between his fingers. He ventured tentatively down the slope and towards the tree.

A branch lashed out without premonition, narrowly missing Sirius's head. With an aggravated yelp, he turned into a dog, dodging more branches that came flying his way. But one came crashing down from above him - he looked up helplessly as it obliterated the moon and hurtled towards him.

Two strong arms grabbed him by the middle and hauled him down, away from the branch. Sirius found himself falling through the earth, too shocked to make a sound before he landed on his back on some dusty floorboards.

He turned back into himself, whirling around in panic. Then -

"Remus?"

Remus was just getting up himself, brushing dried mud off his shoulders. "You're heavy, Padfoot. Even as a dog."

Sirius caught his breath, wildly taking in his surroundings. A dusty, run-down cabin. A broken chandelier. An ancient grand piano. Then he turned to Remus, and his stomach did that annoying lurching thing again. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Remus ran a hand through his hair, a distressed look on his face. "I should be asking you the same."

"Well, I asked you first."

Remus glared at him, and it was in that moment Sirius realised that his friend looked awful. His eyes were wide and hollow, and his face was an unpleasant shade of cream. Even his uniform - usually kept clean as new - was scruffy. His tie hung round his neck like a noose. "I...come here sometimes." He looked like he was choosing his words carefully, treading on eggshells.

"Well," Sirius wasn't sure how to respond. "I heard you playing piano. So here I am."

A smile ghosted across Remus's features. "Oh, Padfoot. Never a good listener in class, but you can hear a piano from a mile away."

There was a lengthy silence, charged with the things Sirius wished Remus would say. But Remus couldn't tell him; not yet.

"You're piano playing's actually pretty terrible." Said Sirius.

Remus laughed quietly. "I save your life, and all you do is criticise my piano playing skills. Typical."

"There was a...grand piano," said Sirius, hopping from foot to foot, "at Grimmauld Place. I used to play it."

Something had shifted in the atmosphere between them. There were no jokes, no pranks. This seemed like a night for telling the truth.

"Really? What did you play?" Asked Remus softly.

"Bach's chorales." Sirius shrugged. "I never liked them, really. They dragged." He didn't tell Remus how he'd made up his own tunes, composed his own pieces for hours on end to drown out his own thoughts. He didn't tell him how he took the sheet music when he left and kept it in the bottom of his trunk. "I could teach you something."

Remus tilted his head to the side, his voice almost a whisper. "I'd like that."

Sirius strode over to the piano, sending up whorls of dust as he went. Sitting down gingerly on the old seat, he could feel Remus's warm breath on the top of his head as he leaned over him.

He played a chord. D minor. It sounded awful. "This piano is probably older than my family line." Sirius muttered. Then he began to play; experimentally at first, aware that Remus was standing behind him; then his wrists loosened up, and he forgot his surroundings. He played freely, decadently, unabashedly.

Time seemed to hang in a balance, and Remus didn't breath, lest it disturb Sirius's playing. But Sirius stopped suddenly, letting the last notes fall without warning. "Why are you here?" He asked, fixing his dark gaze on Remus. "Really?"

Remus closed his eyes. He looked tired; resigned. "It's safe here."

"From what, Remus? Safe from what?" Sirius's eyes seemed to search for the truth, leaving no corner untouched.

"From myself."

There was a deathly silence, only broken by the dull thumps of the willow outside. Remus carried on without meaning to, letting the words pour out of him, knowing that nothing could stop them now. "Every full moon, Padfoot. You're smart, aren't you? I know you are. Work it out. I'm dangerous." Every word hurt like touching a bruise.

Sirius didn't break his gaze. Now he looked thoughtful, his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other. Remus wished he would either talk or leave.

It turned out that Sirius did neither. Because that boy never did what he was told.

He reached out and touched Remus's cheek, tracing the line along his cheekbone. He began underneath his eye, where he could feel the tickle of his eyelashes. Then his touch travelled down to his chin, where he kept it for a few seconds.

Then Sirius kissed him where he'd touched him: below the eye, on the cheek, on his chin.

Remus surprised himself by following Sirius's lips with his until he lingered on his mouth. And suddenly his hands were all over his friend: on his hip, his shoulder blade, the back of his head.

They were everywhere all of a sudden. And the kiss told Remus more than could ever have been spoken on words. It told him that it, _this_ , was okay. He wasn't even sure what _this_ was anymore. _This_ was who he was, _this_ was who Sirius was, and _this_ was them together.

And it was all okay.

Remus broke the kiss and met Sirius with a shy smile. "Play me that song again, will you? Teach me something."


End file.
